What Caesar Wants
by Lystan
Summary: Caesar finds himself face to face with a barbarian woman sent to kill him. Will his alluring ways spare him, or will they drive him to madness? The battle of seduction begins...
1. Moonlit Assassin

Chapter 1 - Moonlit Assassin

He woke suddenly from his sleep and jerked forward, supporting himself with his arms behind him. Heart-pounding fear crawled over his skin, the night air cooling the sheen of sweat that covered his naked body. The thin sheet that covered his legs hissed against his skin as he twisted to survey his darkened surroundings.

The shadows lay deep within his tent though the moonlight glowed brightly against the southern corner of its canvas walls. It did little to light the darker recesses where he thought he had heard movement only seconds before. He glared at his possessions, foreboding in the darkness. He hated being afraid and it filled him with a smoldering rage.

After a few moments of nothing, his heart began to slow and the fear that had gripped him so violently was able to be locked away again. He was about to sink back down to his mattress when he felt a warm body press against his back. Before he could react, a petite hand covered his mouth firmly and the cold edge of a steel blade made itself known to his throat. His rage began to swell in his chest.

He felt the movement of air across his ear and a shockingly silky voice murmured, "A light sleeper, hmm? I can remedy that."

His fear had not returned, only the rage remained. Fear of the unknown was understandable but fear of death at the hands of a woman was just...degrading. He did not fear her or her blade and, as she spoke, he began calculating what it would take to overpower and kill her.

The point of her blade dug deeper into his flesh, almost daring to break the surface. He made no movement for she had chosen well in the placement of her weapon. He had to give her that credit where it was due - she knew what she was doing.

He steadied his breathing and examined his surroundings again, looking for any sort of advantage he could use against her. He noticed that almost everything that had surrounded his bed when he had put out the light had been pushed out of reach. His eyebrow quirked in amusement. She did know what she was doing.

She repositioned herself against him and he discovered she was stronger than she had seemed at first. The small hand on his mouth pulled his head back without warning, a strong arm pinning it quite securely between supple breasts. His face was now tilted upward, baring his neck more openly to her blade. His eyes took her in furiously.

He could see little of her face as it was mostly shadowed by a curtain of long, raven hair. One glittering eye stared back and he caught the hint of a smile peeking from its dark hiding place. "Do you like it, Roman? I gave myself leave to redecorate as you slumbered."

His eyes narrowed momentarily above her hand. She was deadly, clever _and_ funny. Any plans he had been forming melted and rebuilt themselves around that information. She hadn't killed him yet which also meant something. She was waiting but for what?

He tried to read her facial expression but with her face darkened, and he being the wrong way up, it proved too difficult. She tilted her head to the other side and the shadow fell away.

She had pleasing features and dark eyes, defined cheek bones and full, curling lips. It was hard to judge her lineage looking at her upside down. Had it not been for her dark hair, he would have guessed that she came from Gaul. She was a barbarian of some sort, no woman of Rome looked as such. It would not hurt his cause to kill her, then.

She was fondly examining the skin under her blade, not seeing that he studied her. She lay the weapon flat against him and he knew then it was a dagger, too thin to be a sword. It made sense. Work in the dark meant work in close quarters and a sword would allow too many mistakes. His gaze flicked back to her face as a smile curled her lips over white teeth. Perhaps he was giving her too much credit.

The flat of the blade slid down over his throat, causing him to swallow involuntarily. Her smile warmed her voice slightly, "Such a beautiful neck you have. Diana forgive me for rending such a masterpiece."

She sighed then, running the razor edge against his skin again as if she were shaving him. It made him tense up and her laugh was as milky as her voice. Her delicate fingers slid from his mouth and caressed the skin on the other side of his neck. His skin prickled from the coolness of the room and the warmth of her fingertips. He was starting to understand her hesitation and his devious heart smiled.

He made no effort to move as her restraining hand lingered elsewhere, her weapon the only thing left to worry about. He made his eyes warm and inviting, his hard mouth softening into what he knew to be a devastating smirk. His eyes caught hers and he resisted the urge to smile in victory as her face, hands and blade fell in awe. _She should have killed me before I woke_, he thought, _for she is forfeit to me now_.

She stared at his face much to his enjoyment and he relaxed his body against hers. Craning his neck, he turned his head to the side that he might view her better. He made sure to look inquisitive and innocent, not wanting to give away what he already knew. As his face became more clear to her, she sucked in a breath. "By the Gods."

He was unprepared when she shifted underneath him and pinned him to the bed with her knee crushing his neck. As he gasped for air and grappled with what proved to be a muscular leg, she busied her self with something out of his view. Suddenly, his quarters burst with light and a small brazier at the head of his bed illuminated what had been ominous moments before. He had to shut his eyes against its rays.

Her pressure lifted from his neck and he took in air again, his hand rubbing where her knee had bruised his windpipe. He made an effort to look more offended by her actions than physically hurt. It had surprised him, but besides the lack of air there was nothing left of the momentary pain. He had to make a show of it. He sat up once more, glaring into the new brightness of the room and saw her standing a few feet from the bed, her jaw slack and a pained look on her face.

In the light, her stature was revealed to him and he found it as pleasing as her face. She was shapely, if not slightly shorter than he. She wore a leather armored tunic, tight fitting but bulky. From the way she moved he wondered if she was sewn into it. Rudely belying the body beneath, it broadened her shoulders and waist in an unflattering manner. On her, though, it was an asset.

He saw instantly the advantage in its design, thickly padded to deflect close range blade attacks, but not enough to hinder swift movement. It would not stop an arrow or spear, or even a direct stab, but he assumed she was too subtle to allow those things to be a problem. The fabric was dark to blend into most nighttime surroundings. Again, she impressed him.

Her legs were another matter. She had traded protection for ease of movement, and the thin leather leggings clung seductively to her every curve. Muscular thighs and broad hips accentuated daringly, though they would never be seen by her victims. Her soft-soled calfskin boots seemed to caress her lower legs rather than cover them, their noiseless motions an infinite aid to her purpose. They were both as dark as her tunic, easily cloaked in the night.

He allowed himself a moment to take her in. He reassessed his perception of her yet again. She was not completely unawares as he had thought. She may be a harder target than he had first believed her to be. If she played into his hands, though, he would not be disappointed. He wondered at her sudden withdrawal.

She floundered, her shoulders sagging, her hands making their way toward her head. She held it as if it would fall apart. "That God-forsaken bitch, what has she done to me?"

She turned her face away from him, her body spinning in a useless circle as she began moaning to herself in Gaelic.

"_How could she do this to me? How could she send me out here without fair warning? She had to know of his beauty, why would she not tell me? She knew, O, how she had to know! Devious she-vermin from the pits of hell! Forsaken! Hades whore!_"

Here she rambled off a stream of curses he was unable to translate the whole of. He worked hard to keep his smile in check. She could not have known that he spoke her language and now was not the time to reveal it. What he did understand was unlady-like, even for a barbarian. He bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from laughing. Tearing at her hair she began to be understandable again, _"...may she be raped and torn limb from limb evermore!_"

He covered his grinning mouth, expertly disguising it as rubbing a sore neck. She was barely even looking in his direction. He was growing disappointed with her inattention and tried covertly to slip from the bed.

In a flash of light, her blade was under his chin. She placed a hand on his shoulder, pressing him back onto the headboard. She no longer looked torn, her face hard and cold. In the dancing light, her dark eyes were almost violet. She leaned away from him with deadly warning in her face.

He obliged, lounging against the great gilded headboard of his luxurious bed, his elbows hanging over the edge. First stretching his legs, he slowly raised the knee farthest from her, the sheet revealing a brief eye-catching view of the expanse of his body before stretching taut, revealing nothing. His wicked blue eyes lit upon hers and he saw her swallow hard before she glared at him.

"Do not play coy with me, Roman."

He watched the slow play of emotions across her face in reaction to his gut-wrenching smile. He knew what he was doing, women were all the same. She composed herself more quickly than he would have liked, but it did not change his plans. She would succumb. These were the battles he never lost. She went back to her semi-private conversation with herself, pacing, her dagger hilt landing in her palm every time she flipped it.

"_She planned for me to fail. It is the only explanation. O, how she has betrayed my trust and cast aside my loyalty. All too soon, my treasure. You know not what you could have had._" This intrigued him further and he waited patiently as she continued.

"_And now she has left me with a decision that may destroy my soul and I cannot think her heart is burdened by it. Send your lowly servant into the jaws of the wolf and see if she returns whole. Wicked creature._" Her gaze was continually flitting to him, then away, then back. It seemed to coincide with the turning of her weapon. Every other turn in the air, her eyes were upon him. His focus on her was intense as he watched her lazily, a smug grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

"_We had an agreement, damn her blackened soul. Though, perhaps there is a way around that. Think, love, what did she say? Her rotten heart is not clever and it never has been. Maybe she did not mean for you to kill him at all._" She shook her head, "_Impossible, she said nothing else. Kill the Roman._"

She stopped, her hands on her hips and looked over his form, distraught, "_The naked, godlike Roman._"

He could not stop himself. He laughed, revealing a genuine smile in the process. He could not recall being called "godlike" before and it pleased him greatly. Her shoulders fell as she realized he knew what she had been saying. She put her hand to her forehead, "_And he understands your tongue. She forgot to tell me that, too._"

She walked toward him, pretending she hadn't said anything. She stood before him her knife pointed directly at his right eye, bringing it even closer when he shied away from it. "Tell me your name."

He blinked and felt his eyelashes brush against the blade point. Perhaps he had underestimated her ability to overcome his allure. It was not the last time he would be impressed, but he began to fear for his life. He laughed, swallowing his fear, following his original plan. It may yet work, but she cannot see your fear. You are Rome.

The vision of his right eye was blurred by the proximity of the knife point. He felt he managed to look as handsome as he ever, despite having a weapon directed at his face. "What kind of assassin are you, who does not know her mark?"

She stepped back as he spoke, her eyes glittering in wonder at the sound of his voice. It was deep and rich, commanding and inviting, a devastating weapon all its own. His smile followed and it seemed to undo her. He reveled in her distress, the rage in his chest swirling and changing into something better - power. It was delicious, he wanted to run his tongue over his teeth and taste it, but he did not.

He smiled softly, despite his urge to overpower her and watch her blood spill upon her own blade. The thought of its cold steel sinking into her flesh, her rushing blood on his hands, the sound of her scream as he hovered, naked and bloodied, over her helpless and dying body stirred a slumbering demon in him. He lulled it back to sleep, saying, '_Not yet. It will come._' The corner of his mouth twitched in anticipation. '_Soon it will be your turn._'

All of this took only an instant, and her face became cold once more. She slid her leg over his and in a moment she straddled his thighs. He allowed her to position herself comfortably between them, his palms running up and down the smooth fabric. He made a noise of appreciation, even as she drew the knife point along his jaw. He felt the sparks of arousal in himself and suppressed them. He was better than this.

She tilted his chin up with her weapon and his eyes were sweet as honey. She surprised him, her mouth inching into a feline smirk. Her voice sent a cold chill down his spine, her words sending another after it, "The six dead men laying in my wake would not think me so terrible at my profession."

He smiled again, keeping his rising pulse at bay, "Perhaps they would, if you were sitting on their lap."

She bit her lower lip in amusement. Her eyes went from black to amber to violet in the wavering light, almost hypnotizing him. She brushed the knife's tip against his cheekbone, following it with her changing eyes. "You do not fear me. Do you?"

He laughed again, the cold metal against his skin making him want to pull away. He fought it, acting as if she did not have a weapon at all. It seemed to infuriate her that she had no power over him. "Nay. I could not fear one such as you."

He brushed his finger along her cheek the way the knife point had. Then he tucked her hair behind her ear, his eyes roving over her face in a display of desire. He thought for a moment he had deceived her, but he was wrong.

Before he could breathe, she became something to fear. Her features seemed to transform her face into pure hatred, her eyes were alive with the fire behind him. She rose up slightly, bearing her teeth. Roughly, her knife was slid into the hollow of his neck, its sharp point threatening to spill his life without a second thought. She sounded other-worldly when she demanded, "Then you should reconsider it. Tell me your name, Roman."

His fear overtook him, it filled his eyes and his face gave away everything. She was terrifying for a moment and his heart beat erratically. He imagined the demon in his chest opening it's eyes to gaze at her awe-inspiring beauty, as horrible as it was, and licking it's lips.

It was then that he suddenly knew his own desires. He wanted, nay, _needed_ to possess her. Completely and in a way that no other in existence could. She would be his, he would let her fire consume him and he would emerge victorious. He had no hopes of taming her, but he saw the potential to claim her, body and soul. He had never desired something so much in his entire life. It made him ravenous.

Seeing him like that, she calmed, her relaxing thighs sliding her closer to him. Arousal nagged at him and he finally allowed it come to him, slowly. She raised an eyebrow and her cat-like grin returned, "That is more acceptable. However, you have not answered my simple question."

His anger-lust made him defiant and he no longer cared if she cut him, "And if I do not wish to tell you?"

Her eyes glimmered and she removed the knife from his throat, "Then it becomes a matter of discovering your weakness." She leaned even closer and brushed her lips against his.

It seemed as if his heart beat for the first time, loud and strong, and he opened his mouth to take hers. She dodged it, teasing his lips with her tongue, then the corner of his mouth with a soft kiss. He played her game, grazing the line of her upper lip with his own tongue. She turned toward him, trying to test him further when he caught the fullness of her bottom lip between his teeth, wetting it before releasing it. She made a noise that delighted him.

She smiled, "See? Every man has a weakness." His eyes flew open in shock as he felt the chill of her steel against his manhood. He tried in vain to crawl backwards away from her, but she had him trapped. He felt the warmth of her thumb brushing the length of him and a sound of pleasure escaped his lungs. He could not help but close his eyes, when he opened them again she had that same pained look on her face.

"That...is...a _very_ large weakness." She withdrew her blade and pulled the sheet back. His need to possess her only increased as she beheld him, and he thought tears welled up in her eyes. She sounded heart broken as she covered him again, "Oh...Gods."

She stood and turned away from him, "Please, tell me your name."

He was breathing quite heavily and his laugh sounded strange in his ears. He turned on his side, elbow resting on the headboard, other arm resting on his knee. He looked into her eyes, his voice thick with desire, "If you will know, I am Gaius Julius Caesar."

She looked crestfallen, and took his left hand in hers. She examined the ring he wore, the official seal of Rome, and lowered herself onto the bed beside him. Her fingers caressed it, the gold glimmering in the firelight. Her voice was sad and heavy with burden, "_You_ are Julius Caesar, Emperor of Rome?"

He scowled, her question hitting a fine nerve. Why would she ask that? What a terrible thing to say in his presence. He held back his anger, but it seeped into his reply, "I am Julius Caesar, but I am no Emperor. There is no Emperor of Rome. " _Yet_, he finished in his mind.

Her head came up quickly and her face held hope, her voice excited, "You are not the Emperor of Rome?"

He looked away from her, his anger rising, "No, I am not."

She choked out a laugh, her hands going to her face, and she slipped back into her native tongue, "_Light of my eyes, you have returned to me! No greater day have I known and be it the end of them, no matter! Such glorious joy leaps from my heart that I no longer care!_"

She quickly straddled him again, sheathing her dagger for the first time, and brought her face close to his, her voice a fervent whisper he could not ignore, "I have no reason to kill you as I have been commanded. For though you are the great Caesar, you are not who I was sent after. My heart can rest easy now, and I will lay down my life willingly before you. For I know you cannot let me live, now, and to die at your hand would be a greater victory than any I can imagine."

Her breath was hot in his ear and her hips moved against him as she spoke, her whispers becoming more and more desperate as her hands slid over his bare chest. As she rocked into him he gave up any resistance he may have had, wrapping his hands around her thighs and then underneath. He felt her tongue flick against the flesh of his ear and he pulled her hips to him, his breath coming harshly.

She moaned, then whispered, "Gaius?"

It took him a moment to respond, no one addressed him that way. His voice was close to breathless, "Yes?"

She brought her lips very close to his, he felt them moving as she asked him, "May I taste you?"

So innocent was her question, it made him laugh quietly. His smile remained even as he teased her the way she had him before. After a moment of her pleading moans, he replied, "It would not displease me."

Even as he spoke her mouth covered his. He could not hold back his enjoyment any longer. Her tongue was wild against his and they fought for dominance over the other. He had never known a kiss so passionate, though he had known many, many women. Every time they pulled apart, gasping for breath, they came together as furiously as the first time, their passions only building.

Then she pulled away, her hands on his cheeks. As they caught their breath he looked at her dangerously. She had awoken the beast and it would not be slaked until she was crying his name. His desire for his possession of her was like a drug and it could not be overcome now that it was pulsing through his veins.

Still whispering, she begged him, "Glorious Caesar, grant me one request before you take my life."

He wanted her to stop talking and use her mouth for better things, but humored her for the moment. He hissed, "Ask and we shall see."

She covered his neck in gentle bites and warm air as she relayed her request, "Allow me the pleasure of your body, that I may know true happiness before Charon leads me to the Underworld. No punishment would be greater than to die without knowing it."

He bit hard on her neck and her resulting cry of pleasure was almost too much, pushing him closer to his threshold. Through clenched teeth he growled, "And if I will not kill you when I am done?"

She thrust him away, her face filled with anguish, "But you must! There will be no other after you! I cannot live my life to have and then lose what brings me the only pleasure in it! Beautiful Caesar, I am not so naive to think that you would find use for me. All I ask is one night and a worthy death."

He was beginning to reach the end of his patience. He took a few calming breaths, his hands clasped behind his head. He was glowering at her, deciding if it was even worth keeping her alive long enough to have his way. He thought of how wonderful it felt to be between her legs, her tongue in his mouth, his in hers. He imagined thrusting into her and hearing her scream his name in pleasure and pain. Yes, he decided, it will be worth it.

He was angry, now, and he was quite done with her interruptions. Now, before he gave her anything, he wanted her to beg for it. '_May I taste you?_' He would make sure that she did. He needed a distraction. "Tell me who sent you and I will consider it."

She offered the information without any hesitation, and only a little tinge of bitterness, "The she-wolf that hired me went by the name of Xena."

If he was angry before, he was furious now. He grabbed her by the throat, squeezing, and she moaned in pleasure. "You lie! I saw her crucified with my own eyes!"

She accepted his brutal touch, desire pure and unfiltered as she gazed at him, "But, did you see her die with your own eyes, my Caesar?"

His grip tightened as he grit his teeth but she enjoyed it, visibly, so he released her. His anger was only momentary as the information was unimportant to him. She would not submit this way. He would need to lure her with kindness and it would drive her mad. Seeming to calm, he asked her softly, "Where is she?"

She crawled toward him, her mouth pushing his back against the golden headboard. She was between his legs now and the sensation of her fingers trailing down his abdomen was excruciatingly pleasant. He stopped her with his hand on her throat again, but he did not squeeze. Instead he gazed at her lustfully and caressed her delicate skin, a half smile playing at his lips. With his body he said, '_I will let you have me, if you do as I wish._'

She moaned her displeasure. "My Caesar! I can only tell you where she was when I left! There is no chance that she would have stayed and where she may be now, I am unable to say!"

He did not look happy and her desperation to please him made his passion burn brighter. He cared not about that tattered whore who sought her revenge on him. Let her come, she would find it a great challenge to harm him. And he would not mind meeting her again under any circumstances. At the very least, he knew now she was alive and trying to kill him. He covered his delight with false anger.

Pleading with her eyes, she pressed deeper between his legs and ran her palms over over his thighs like he had done to her before. Leaning into him, he allowed her to kiss his neck secretly enjoying her lower affections behind his anger at her. This was how it should be. He smiled to himself.

He went back to scowling as she pulled away from him to see why he would not respond to her. Seeing the anger in his face, she cried, "I was not meant to return to her! She expected me to die at your hand! And if I succeeded in my endeavors, she would likely have found _me_. In both situations she rid herself of an annoyance."

She leaned in to kiss his mouth and he jerked his face away from her. "I am no mere annoyance."

She sat back slowly, a sly smile spreading across her face, "Do I detect _jealousy_, dear Caesar?"

He snarled, pulling her to him and taking her mouth brutally. As she started to enjoy it, he thrust her away again. "I envy no one."

Her eyes were lit with realization, "You have known her! You have been with her, have you not?"

Anger and pride colored his voice, "And if I have? What do you care?"

She laughed maniacally. As she wrapped herself around him, her voice dripped with a dark honey, his willpower against it weakening, "O, son of Ares, how it gladdens my heart to see justice come to her." She kissed him viciously before continuing, "To know that she has had you and will not know you again because of her hate for you brings me as much carnal pleasure as your touch, Caesar."

Her tongue played against his and she laughed, "You crucified her, you heartless bastard! And broke her legs! O, how glorious you are! Devious, mortal-god among men."

He found himself laughing with her, "You will kill me with compliments, I think."

She caught him in a passionate kiss that ended with his lower lip between her teeth. His breath hitched in his throat, escaping in a lusty moan. "Even they do not do you service, Great Caesar. More than I should be singing your praises."

He pushed his hips into her and she rocked against it, her pleasure coming in gasps. He didn't want her singing, he wanted her screaming, wantonly. And soon. He pushed her back, her eyes sad as he forced her to stand beside the bed. He slid his legs over the edge before her, looking up into her face as she caressed his cheeks. Tugging on the bottom hem of her thick tunic, he asked her, "Can this be removed?"

Her grin was feral, "For you, my Caesar, anything."

She spun away from him as she pulled the laces that ran up the sides. He leaned back onto his palms, stretching one leg out, the sheet barely covering him anymore. His eyes burned as he watched her unlace and free herself from the ugly armor.

He felt himself harden even more as her breasts came into view, round and perfect. She dropped the covering on the floor behind her and began removing her belt and gloves, discarding them as well. He did not disguise his pleasure as she came toward him, crawling.

She leaned again between his legs, her tongue tracing his hardening nipples, first one than the other. His head tilted back in ecstasy, less from her mouth and more from her breasts pressing against him. She was not ignorant of his arousal and her efforts were made more obvious. She made certian he knew, caressing her soft skin as they surrounded his admittedly large weakness. He lifted gently into them, moaning in spite of himself. She slid the sheet from his legs, allowing him to see what he was doing.

He touched her lips with his thumb, his eyes staring into hers. She licked the end of it, enjoying the smile he gave her. She asked him again, "Gaius?"

"Yes." He said huskily. He knew what she wanted to ask, and it was a command, not a reply. She asked it anyway.

"May I taste you?" Her voice was a honeycomb that drizzled its sweet nectar over his being. Her lips trailed along his thigh and he shivered.

He could barely breathe and his desire was woven in his reply, "It would not displease me."

As her face came nearer to him, her eyes met his and she smiled, "I should hope not."

He lost himself as her mouth surrounded him. So smooth, like wet velvet. Her tongue was silken against his skin and his legs ached to press more of himself into her. She wrapped tender fingers around it to steady him, her nails harshly caressing lesser weaknesses. He held his reigning pleasures at bay, severely biting his lower lip. He had to close his eyes momentarily, for they refused to see the world in focus and swam in his desire. The moan rising in his throat weakened to a sigh through his sheer willpower.

He watched her face as she administered her gluttonous punishment upon him. She was enjoying it almost as much as he, making a show of her tongue against his flesh, her eyes flashing as she watched him watch her. So gently she pulled with her hands, allowing him deeper entrance by small, delicious inches. She did not stop at just the head, instead taking as much of him in her as she could, humming in happiness.

When her lips met her hand she let go, anchoring herself on his thighs, before pulling back and doing it all over again. Each new start brought him closer to the edge and deeper into her, and he was unable to restrain himself any longer. His hand tangled itself in her hair, not to guide or pressure, but to assure himself that she was, in fact, doing exactly this to him.

His arms would not support him and he lay back onto the pillows, still straining to watch her. She followed his repositioning without stopping, her nails raking legs and abdomen. His hips jumped without his consent, forcing him farther than before. She paid no heed, her motions slow and deliberate. He thought he would die in ecstasy. After only a few minutes of her attentions, he could feel his release coming over him like an avalanche.

He thought her mouth would not contain it all, but he was amazed. His body moved without his control, thrusting into her, filling her mouth. He could not watch, it was too pleasurable. He threw his head back, both his hands in her hair now, and bellowed in his climax. Before he realized it, he was coming down from his peak, and yet she still surrounded him, her mouth pulling any moisture or liquid into it rather than spilling even a drop.

His entire body relaxed and he felt at peace for a moment. Then her head rose from between his legs and he saw her licking her fingers. He smiled, and she returned it. She drew her thumb across her upper lip seductively, wiping his essence from her as she said, "Such a sweet nectar! I must sample it again soon."

He bit his swollen lip, smiling, pressing his hands behind his head. He stretched himself before her, and her gaze danced upon what she still wished to know. Taking a liberty, she leaned forward on her knees and left a trail of damp kisses along his stomach and chest. Her lips wove their way around his torso, her tongue joining in the treasure hunt.

She spoke and her voice sounded thick, "My Caesar, you cannot know my joy at pleasing you." She paused, the full of her tongue tasting the skin of his chest. "Tell me now what more I can do."

He decided not to answer, for the moment.

As he enjoyed himself, he brushed his fingertips down her bare back and heard her whimper. He slid his hand down, caressing her full breast carefully at first, playing with her nipple as it hardened, then crushing it between his fingers. She gasped, arching her back toward his hand. He smiled to himself.

She crawled atop him, burying her face in his neck. His hands explored her soft flesh and encountered her leggings. At the crest of her lower back, there was a knot in the laces that held her prisoner. He pulled, loosening them until they were able to slide over and down her hips. As he did, he rolled on top of her and she gave in easily.

He slid the taut fabric down around her knees, his mouth tasting her navel as he pushed them off her feet and onto the floor, boots and all. Free suddenly of their bondage, her legs spread to his hands with no resistance, shaking with excitement. His fingers explored her, finding her slick with anticipation and he felt himself harden again. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

He lifted her hips toward his face, his mouth devouring her most sacred place. She was delicious and earthy, and he buried his tongue inside her. He wrapped his hands around her thighs, supporting and controlling her ecstatic movements. She touched her naked skin, playing with her breasts and mouth, her eyes shut against everything but him. Releasing one leg, he spread her with his fingers and plundered her further.

She revolted, hips shaking, legs tightening around his neck and shoulders. He felt her hands on his hair, his ears, his closed eyes. She was trying to find something to anchor her to reality and he would not let her. Carefully employing his teeth, he found a place quite tender to her and worried it between them and his tongue.

The sounds of her abandon crawled under his skin, his passions becoming harder to resist. Finally, when he was ready to forsake her release for his own, her body shook as she came. She cried out his name, strange to his own ears as she called him "Gaius" again and again. Her legs clenched under his hands, her back stiffening, and he slid his fingers inside her once more.

Her eruption seemed to double and he moved tongue and hand together, not letting her rest for a moment. He did stop, but not before she began cursing in Gaelic. His amusement with her foul language made him linger for longer than he intended. He let her go on for a while before relaxing her body to the mattress and leaving her in the trembling aftermath of her climax.

His mouth found hers, still wet and she made sure to clean him of it. She held his head still as she did, the flat of her tongue teasing him to full arousal. Her knee brushed against it and when he shuddered her hand began to caress him. He kissed her deeply, moving her legs and hips into a better position for him to have her. When he felt himself prepared, he pulled her into a sitting position, her legs around his waist, her arms supporting her from behind.

She could feel the tip of him waiting to enter her and with her hand guided and teased the both of them. He looked her in the eye and stated matter-of-factly, "I will have you. All of you."

His passion and rage built rapidly when she responded coquettishly, her eyes filled with impish glee, "You may try."

_**To be continued in the next chapter...**_


	2. Moonlit Assassin Continued

She made it too easy. Too easy to enjoy her, to fill her, to enter her again and again. And she welcomed it, every inch of him, crying his still foreign name, "Gaius! Gaius, _yes_!"

His obsession drove him into her, each time with more force than the last, but his passion would not be slaked. He could find no satisfaction. His desire to claim her drove him to insanity, he tore at her with hands and teeth to the point of blood. Yet her pleasures grew. She begged him and he gave, but it was not enough. He could find no release.

Her body shook, not only from the tremendous power of his efforts but from the overwhelming rapture he gave. She would have it all and more. His obsession grew, his need for her submission tearing him apart. He could have any woman in the known world and they would be his adoring slave but his craving for absolute ownership of this creature was greater even that that of his own self-perfection.

It was his compulsion, the blood in his veins turning to acid within him from the drug that was her body and soul. He sought it harder, their mingling cries almost animalistic in nature and still he could find nothing. His mind was on the verge of madness.

But through it all her body was soft and inviting, her legs parting ever easier, clenching tenderly around his waist, her hands caressing his flesh. Her blood sang to him as it spilled into his mouth and he took it from her skin like a dog, lapping it to her ever increasing pleasure. She had no mercy for him. He loved and hated her and never wanted it to end.

And as she came, his name a terrifying cry from her lips, he suddenly knew he would never have her. Her head thrown back, her body arched into him, her hips shaking violently from her climax, in this moment he realized that she was not something even one such as he could own. She was not a thing to be cowed, not a spirit to be crushed - she was a goddess to be worshiped. He was the sun and she was the sky that allowed him to exist.

He gazed upon her, a feral passion in his eyes, and he basked in the power of her release. The music of her wordless moans filled his ears; this was she, singing his praises. The scent of her blood filled his senses, yet he would never find the solace he sought in her. He drew his tongue across her skin and sighed, having never stopped in his endeavor to pleasure himself. He would know that at least. He could never possess her, but he would try. Over and over, if he must, until he could find some sort of peace.

In a place where hopelessness should have filled him, he was empty and an awe-inspiring wonder at the magnitude of her seeped inside him. She was the dark side of Venus, delicious and tempting. She was a destroyer of souls, a parting of being from body. She tore the beating hearts of men from their chests and devoured them before their own dying eyes. She herself was heartless and all the more terrible and beautiful for it. He wished to bathe in her glory or wrath, or both. He ducked his head, tasting the flesh of her neck.

He felt like less than nothing before her, and he lay her down gasping for breath. His own arousal inched him ever closer to mind-blowing insanity, but he was coming to terms with that. If there was a creature in existence that he would bend until breaking for, it would be this woman. This heathen from nowhere, with no past and no worth. It would be she. He would never know pleasure like this again, even if he was unable to know his own pleasures fully.

His hands and mouth raked her skin again as she recovered, her hand resting over her blackened heart. Her perfect breasts were drenched in her own life-force and he could not help but taste them again. He felt her hands upon his shoulders, but he took no notice.

She brought his reddened lips to hers and he lost himself in the velvety tomb that was her mouth, tasting himself there. He could not comprehend what had brought him here, to his knees before all the universe; so vulnerable and weak, yet so completely willing.

He was the Great Caesar and she? She was everything.

He broke for air, not straying far from her mouth. His demon had a leash and she held it loosely in one delicate hand. He watched her, even as their mouths collided, hoping to see the violet Underworld that held him captive. He pulled away again and she gave in, eyes a soulless black then violet then amber. Such a soft look for such a ruinous wretch, the face of an angel and the body of a devil. He could barely speak, but his voice was powerful and needy, "Woman, tell me your name."

Her longing and adoration was heart-stopping, his breath came too slowly and his head began to swim. "Glorious Caesar, you have but to choose it and it will be mine!"

And with that she brought him into her again. She cried out against him, "Gaius, call me your own; name me and I am yours!"

No greater joy would he ever find. His desires flared inside him as they had not even before his revelation. _Name me and I am yours_... she would have him no other way? His nature darkened, and his obsession returned with a reckless abandon. His grin was cruel and devastating.

Violently, he forced her onto her stomach, pushing her to support herself on the footboard of the bed. He grabbed her around the waist pulling her hips toward him, his free hand painfully clenching hers to the ornate metal.

She pushed into him, but he would not enter her. She felt him there, and ached for him, her hips brushing her against it. He used his leg to push her knees farther apart and not gently. His breath heavy in her ear, his voice harsh and broken, "You know not what you say."

She looked at him over her shoulder, one eye shimmering in the fire and her lips parted - pure desire. "O, but I do."

He entered her suddenly with a force that almost broke her. She screamed, agony and want, and he never wondered if anyone heard them. He could not have cared less, thinking only about her offer. One arm around her waist, one hand clenched in her hair, he took her brutally and slowly. The sound of her cries was...delightful. He smiled.

"Shall I name you _Greed_? For you _are_. _Greedy_ and _wanting_." Every few words he emphasized, powerfully.

"Yes, yes I am!" She would have said anything, he thought.

"Are you Lust? Are you Sin? Are you Whore? Tell me!" his voice grew rougher, louder, more forceful, each choice bringing another thrust and another scream. He was snarling and he could not stop himself.

"Anything! It will be only as you desire!" There was complete submission in her voice, it became whimpering as her legs caved unable to suspend her for a third coming.

She had handed him the reins to her soul, she had looked him in the eye and said '_Ride me to Hell, to oblivion and beyond. I shall carry you to your destiny and farther, for you have asked and I have bent my will to you. Claim me, use me as you wish_.'

He feasted on it, biting her shoulder viciously, and no victory would ever be sweeter. This was better than sunrise over a conquered land, better than a thousand legions of foreign armies strewn dead at his feet, better even than the crown of Rome being place upon his head as he became Emperor of the known world and all beyond. All for her. For Eternity.

"Perverse and Filthy? Are you these things, too? Is this what you want?" He paused, gliding slowly, in and out, tempting himself to the point of weeping so glorious was the sensation. Her reaction was nearly the same and she could only respond, "Yes" in a pleading manner. Over and over, "Yes, yes."

He had won the impossible and only because she wished it. She had lowered herself to lay at his feet and worship him, even as he worshiped her. His own personal deity, her vengeance, her adoration, her lust were his to control. His threshold was at hand and he would wait no longer.

"Then I will tell you what you are and what you will be from now on. "

He supported her fully now, her body trembling on the edge of a fourth, powerful deliverance. "Anything, " she moaned, tears in her throat, "for you Gaius, anything in the world."

He pulled her to him by the hair, extracting himself to even his own displeasure. She would wait as he had, quaking and weak. His voice, which had been harsh before, was now a raging growl, "Woman, I name you '_Mine_'."

And he thrust into her, their bodies coming together. His release was so great a feral roar was torn from his chest. He felt himself staring into an empty abyss that dared to consume him and there were tears in his eyes. Her legs clung to him, her face buried in pillows as he had let go of her hair to pull her hips into him. It seemed there was no end to this rolling pleasure, and as he filled her he swam in and out of consciousness.

He did eventually stop but he did not know it. He lay back on the bed, dying and living, suffocating on the air he took in. After what seemed like hours, he felt her mouth on him, washing herself from him with a wicked tongue. He thought he would know no more yet she kept him awake and wanting. He did not fear that his guard would come to him, or that he would tear his golden headboard in half. He feared he would never live to know her again. She was killing him and it was more than wonderful. It was glorious.

Spent yet again, he cradled her to him, resting his cheek upon her bloodied chest. Her erratic heartbeat thundered in his ear, lulling him. As he drifted toward the darkness of peaceful slumber, he murmured something he would have regretted to the end of his days if he had recalled it in the morning, "Now I shall rename you 'Caesar's Pillow'."

Her sweet laughter was the last thing he knew before sleep took him.

_In the early hours of the morning a dream came to him. So vivid and bright was this dream that he truly believed it to be reality for a time. He was on a hill of lush, moist grass, surrounded by a glade of greenery he had never seen the like of. He was on all fours, unable to move anything except the blades between his fingers. He shifted them, in and out, feeling the dew that had settled there. A smile crept to his lips._

_He could feel the sun begin to warm his skin as it came over the horizon, but he could not yet see its crest though he strained to. He felt he should look beside him, and when he did, a woman appeared before him out of the morning mists. He was not afraid, for when he saw her he knew her to be the goddess Venus. Many hours he had spent in her temples when he was young and naive, asking only for what he desired most. In those fleeting days, he had believed it to be Rome under his command. Now as she stood before him in all her glory, he knew it to be otherwise._

_She smiled down on him, loving and motherly, her arms spreading before her, allowing him to take her in. Even as he beheld her, she transformed, her golden curls lengthening and becoming as dark as the night sky. Her luscious blue eyes became black and soulless and as she turned her head to grin devilishly, they caught the morning light, flashing violet. He knew that face, but knew not from where and he hardened, unable to control himself._

_Her shining robes became transparent, revealing darkened nipples and a patch of rich hair between her thighs. As he thought about its curly depths his hand clenched the soft, wet grass in his fist. She walked toward him, her thin body becoming full and curvaceous. Slender legs became thick with muscle, her hips widening to match. As she approached, she reached for her neckline; delicate fingers revealing an opening down its front allowing its easy removal. His fingers dug into the earth beneath him, his eyes unable to follow anything but her sensuous movements._

_She passed out of his range of sight but he could hear her footsteps in the grass behind him, her robes trailing behind her as they slid from her shoulders. He felt a gentle breeze against sensitive parts of him as her robes finally fell to the ground between his knees. He felt her skin brush against his legs and he shivered, pleasure from so little contact more immense than he ever could have thought. Her body formed itself against him, her breasts flattening against his back, her hands sliding across his abdomen and chest. He took in a shaking breath, his eyes unable to stay open._

_She whispered in his ear, nothing he could understand but their meaning all too clear. She was casting some spell of love upon him and he was powerless to stop her. Powerless because he had no will to do so. He tried to rock against her, to pressure her drifting hands lower, to satisfy him with more than gentle caresses but to no avail. His limbs remained frozen, all save one which jumped with utter excitement. Her nails grazed the skin of his chest, raking his hardened nipples with wonderful pain. He moaned, wishing she would do more._

_She whispered on, she called him Gaius and he moaned again. He felt her tongue against his ear and then she took the flesh of it into her mouth and sucked. It brought him such shuddering pleasure he tried to beg her to fulfill him. He could not speak, only gasp and whimper. He did both, enthusiastically. Her hands caressed his chest and shoulders, the lobe of his ear worried between her teeth. He could hold it no longer and under her gentle ministrations he spilled his seed onto the ground beneath him. He shuddered in his release and as he did his eyes opened on the sunrise over the city of Rome. He felt a great and terrible love swell inside him, not only for his wondrous and fair city, but more so in part for the woman who was removing her flesh from his. He cried out at her departure, but she was gone. He was left to look upon Rome, alone and spent. He felt a tear run down his cheek._

Caesar awoke slowly as the sunlight crept over him. Face down and spread across the expanse of his wide bed, his arm dangled over its edge and his hand trailed on the moist grass below. He was smiling before he was even fully awake. He knew somehow that she was gone and that it had been only partially a dream, but it didn't matter to him. He looked down at the tuft of grass and earth he had pulled up in his dream. It crumbled in his hand, and left only dirt under his nails.

He shifted his body to turn over and felt an uncomfortable wetness beneath him. In his moment of realization, he laughed, lowering his face into a pillow as he did so. Not ashamed, only amused. She was wonderful, even in his dreams. His smile would not leave and he did not have the heart to chase it away.

He rose and caught up a towel from the nearby basin. He noted, absently that the water and towel were pinkish, having been used previously. It made his smile even wider, imagining her cleaning their night together from her skin. As he washed himself he heard a commotion outside his tent. Finishing, he wrapped the sheet from his bed around his waist knowing full well what was going on in the camp.

As he turned toward the tents entrance, he noticed a flash of metal from the main support post. He made his way to it, careful not to snag the sheet in his haste. Another smile edged its way onto his lips as he neared. The curtains of his doorway were swept away and his dearest friend, Brutus, entered breathing heavily with fear, followed closely by armored guards.

Caesar took no notice, focused entirely on the silver dagger that held a petite black leather glove at his eye level. Brutus spoke as he removed it reverently, his fear clearly apparent in his voice, "Caesar! Six men were found dead on the outskirts of the camp and two more at your door! Tell me, my friend, are you hurt?"

Quietly, almost tenderly as he caressed the worn leather with his fingers and eyes, he said to himself, "That makes eight, my love."

Confusion covered Brutus' face, "I cannot have heard you."

Caesar glanced up from his new treasures, smile intact, and gestured with them to his friend, saying "She told me only of six."

Brutus was starting to understand, or so he thought, "There was a change of guard this morning at sunrise. The soldier that came to relieve the man at your door may have been attacked even as he came upon him."

Caesar laughed with something like pride, "That only makes seven. She killed one on the way out. She-devil." His smile disappeared as he laid the glove and dagger on a nearby table and turned to his friend, dusting the earth from his hand, "And good riddance. Unable men who allow assassins in my quarters have no use in my mighty legions."

Brutus was shocked, not only by the news of the assassin, but also at his liege's calloused attitude toward the slain men. He would follow this man to the ends of the earth but there were moments he questioned his true intentions. Shaking himself mentally, he instead asked, "Should we sweep the area in search of the intruder, Caesar?"

A valiant smile came upon his handsome face once more and he laughed in delight, "Nay, my friend!" His fingers fondly handled the hilt of her dagger and he looked at it with a strange passion, "I eagerly await her return."


	3. Homecoming

_Chapter 2 - Homecoming_

-

The sun shone brightly over the crowded street of Rome. The citizens milled anxiously on the edges of the wide lane through the mass of people, waiting for the parade of soldiers to reach them. So far, the only thing these people had seen were spoils of war and, luckily, there was enough of that to keep them enticed and subdued. Caesar's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, he was not sure how much longer the calm would last. He was as restless as the crowd.

"She does know how to make a first impression, does she not?" The voice rumbled from his right, belonging to a stout and garish man. Caesar shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed with his observation. The man was annoying enough as it was but he insisted on getting under Caesar's skin every moment they were forced into each others presence.

The man shot him a grin and continued, his voice as smug as his smile, "Only a woman would know how to waste my time so effectively."

Only barely able to conceal his sneer, he raised his eyebrows in a non-committing response. The man on his left finally spoke, leaning around him to speak directly to his intended target, "You make it sound as if this is the first woman to have done so, Pompey!"

Pompey laughed, more of a bark than anything, dropping a grape into his mouth before speaking, "Ah, Crassus, you should know better than I the Fates would not allow that!"

Pompey and Crassus laughed heartily, sharing their joke around an unamused Caesar. He was reaching his limit on time spent in public appearances and the two of them had been shortening his fuse by leaps and bounds. There were days when Caesar wondered how the three of them controlled their own raging egos long enough to rule the known universe. He gritted his teeth in a barely passable smile to let them know he did, indeed, follow their line of entertainment, albeit begrudgingly.

He turned, slowly, to his left, meeting Crassus' gaze for a long moment before releasing his morbid smile and staring blankly over the crowd again. He heard the other man's laughter quiet down, knowing that his silent message had been interpreted correctly. It was Crassus' job to keep Caesar from killing Pompey, and vice versa. The job was a handful at the easiest of times. Caesar was diplomatic, but Pompey was...a pompous ass. Caesar's eyebrow twitched again, pleased at how accurate a description that was.

Crassus made an effort to change the subject, "I have the highest hope that whatever is in store for us will be worth the wait."

There was a loud snort from his right, "If that is the case, I should expect our enemies conquered, their lands converted and their coffers emptied in exchange for the wait she is forcing on us."

Crassus leaned forward again, "But what would there be left for you to do, my friend?"

Another grape was crushed as he grinned, "Every woman in Rome, dear Crassus."

Caesar suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, glancing instead at the position of the sun. It had taken the procession nearly two hours to reach this point and they were only now beginning to hear the tread of marching feet. Unwilling to openly agree with the man, he did have to admit he was correct. Sighing quietly, he commented, "If she takes any longer, the sun will be setting."

The other two laughed, relaxing now that he had finally joined their conversation. Pompey added, "And I had so been looking forward to the mid-day meal."

Caesar gawked at him, incredulous, "And what of the last twelve plates you sent away empty?"

Patting the straining armor over his abdomen, Pompey replied, "An appetizer."

The young woman who was refilling Pompey's wine goblet took the chance to giggle flirtatiously, catching his eye as she leaned over her task. He grinned at her, gesturing her closer so he could whisper in her ear. Caesar fought to keep what he had eaten that morning firmly in his stomach, looking away that his insides would stop trying to turn themselves inside out. Disgust was a bitter taste in his mouth.

He turned to Crassus, hoping for something intellectual to relieve his senses. The expression on his face was one of shared annoyance and Caesar exhaled his pent up anger, a weak smile of commiseration flitting across his features. While neither of them spoke, seeing someone he could hold a conversation with was enough to calm his mood.

They both took up their own goblets, recently refreshed, settling more comfortably in the wide chairs they occupied. A comfortable silence pursued, broken intermittently by the serving girl's childish tittering. When she finally left, Caesar was on the verge of strangling both her and the man causing the fits of hair-raising laughter. Lives were spared when the fanfare of trumpets surprised them all.

All eyes turned toward the enormous mass of bodies marching down the wide lane that had been left open. Their steps shook the ground, the cheers of the crowd, in turn, shaking the air. The army was close enough that the first of their ranks could be seen and before them all was a golden chariot pulled by two magnificent white horses. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the woman at the reigns.

Her arm was raised elegantly above her as she waved it to the crowd. Her robes were of white and blue, gold adorning both wrists and biceps, a gold circlet of leaves holding her hair up off of her neck. He blinked, amazed at her transformation. She may have passed for a Roman. He wouldn't have believed her capable, but there she was before his very eyes, proving the impossible.

He noticed Pompey straighten to complete attention out of the corner of his eye, the man's gaze honed on the very woman they had been speaking of earlier. Over the sounding of the trumpets and the roar of the crowd, he heard him announce needlessly, yet anxiously, "Let the show begin."

Three sets of armor clattered as they stood, Caesar stepping forward slightly to show prominence in the presentation. Unsurprisingly, Pompey stepped forward also, followed closely by Crassus who would not be left behind. Caesar smiled to himself, too engrossed in the chariots progress to want to do anything about it. He was beyond caring what the two of them did, as long as they stayed out of his way from this point on.

The pavilion they had been resting in sat at the head of a large set of stairs, the perfect location to display the luxurious power of the Triumvirate and bring the parade of spoils to a close. He thought it had been flawless planning on her part, having his army brought to him by his cherished general at the seat of his power. He smiled, unable to hide it. He had not discussed the plan with the other two-thirds of the ruling party, leading them instead to believe it was entirely her idea. Which it was.

Over the sound of the crowd, Crassus asked him, "Is _this_ she?"

Pompey responded before Caesar could, disapproval clear in his raised voice, "Who else would it be? Do you know of another _female_ leading the Roman army?" He shook his head, continuing mostly to himself, "Disgraceful."

Ignoring the slight, Caesar only frowned. Something about the situation not boding well with him. They were a long ways from the foot of the stairs, not yet to the point where she would turn her chariot and halt his army, victorious before his city, when he noticed something unsettling. The woman turned her head just so and he could see quite clearly that her hair was dark blond. His eyes narrowed and he examined her more closely, suspicious even at his great distance.

She was too tall, too lanky, and had no muscle definition - frail was the best description. He shook his head imperceptibly, unable to grasp what he was seeing. Not wanting to alert the men beside him, he scanned the line of soldiers closest to her. They all walked shoulder to shoulder, except one in the middle, directly behind the chariot, who marched almost a pace ahead. That one soldier was a head shorter than any other in the line and he became angered that he hadn't noticed it sooner. A moment too late, his eye caught swift movement in the crowd and his hand flew to his sword hilt as if he could protect her from where he stood. Caesar blinked.

In the span of a breath, an arrow appeared through the woman's neck, her cry stifled in the rush of blood coming from her opened throat. Almost simultaneously another arrow appeared from her chest, having hit her from behind. Each arrow knocked her in a different direction, causing her dying body to sway on the moving chariot. He heard Crassus curse but had no time to register it before panic flooded his mind. The woman was standing dead for only a moment before the frightened horses pulled the chariot from beneath her. The army approached, unstoppable and unaffected.

In his next breath, two men sprang from the crowd toward the woman's crumpled form, swords drawn. As they approached each of them was taken down swiftly by a soldier on either end of the first row, an obviously practiced move. A third man leapt from yet another direction, a bow still in his hands. He rushed toward the corpse, and was greeted by the sword of the shorter soldier that Caesar had spotted only moments earlier.

Without notice, the soldier had sprinted forward to intercept the man, sword held low to avoid flashing in the sunlight. Completely oblivious to his impending death, the last assassin's head was split from his body in one fluid motion, an arc of blood following the weapon's point into the sky. In these few seconds, the crowd had only just begun to perceive what had happened. Silence, then shocked murmurs flowing through the crowd, away from the action like an earthquake. When the head fell to the ground, a woman somewhere screamed in terror. Caesar blinked for the second time.

The soldier stooped to grasp the decapitated head by the hair, stepping over the two bodies now covering each other in death, the bloodied sword joining them. The army followed, crushing the lifeless corpses underfoot, already forgotten. The lone soldier sprinted toward the stairs, striding up the first few before turning to face the approaching company with the dripping head raised. A fierce command was shouted over the din. In response the army halted, their own guttural response quieting the rippling crowd instantly. Another command and the sound of hundreds of swords being drawn shattered the new silence.

Caesar had seen few things more awe inspiring than an entire army drawing their weapons in the same instant. His lips twitched, forcing down a smile. Were he a lesser man, he would not have seen the two men beside him step back, Pompey more so than Crassus. It only made it harder for him to hide his utter joy at the situation. He was unsure if he would be able to wait till the right moment to act, if he would be able to let this play out. His eyes fell on the figure at the foot of the stairs.

Bloody head still raised, it waited for the crowd to ponder the silence. Then without warning, another impossibly loud shout erupted, only this time it was understandable, "For Victory!"

A beat later, the army responded, their unanimous yell followed with the clash of sword against shield. The earth shook with their voices and the crowd began to murmur loudly. There was another long pause, blood beginning to run down the upraised arm and pool on the gray stair beneath. The second cry was as surprising as the first, "For Rome!"

The men responded again, this time joined by the crowd. Caesar could not conceal his smile any longer, it had been growing and was now spread across his face. The crowd quieted down slightly, expecting a third, more powerful cheer that they would undoubtedly join in whatever it may be. They were excited and nothing would stop them from expressing themselves now.

His eyes never left the full figure commanding his army. He was only more joyful when it spun, dripping prize in one hand, and removed it's helmet with the other. Long raven hair spilled over narrow shoulders and violet eyes burned into his soul. By the Gods, how he had missed her. Her smile was dazzling no matter how far away she was.

Now facing them, her cry was deafening, "For Caesar!"

His heart stopped beating as his army and the citizens of Rome replied in kind, the wave of exhilarated sound crashing into him with enough force to knock him a step backward. He held his ground, already leaning into his first step toward her. There was a clatter and a sickening wet sound as she dropped what she carried, both items rolling down the stairs behind her. She was ascending as he moved forward.

Pompey and Crassus, silent until now, protested loudly. He was not surprised. He waved a warding hand toward them, his voice completely calm when he ordered, "Silence, fools."

Seconds before she leapt into his waiting arms, he informed them, "_This_ is my wife."

The cheers of Rome embraced them as they embraced each other, their mouths meeting forcefully before their city, their army, and their enemies. She had finally returned to him and he was loathe to let her go.

He found himself unable to take his eyes off of her. Allowed only a moment to freshen up, the two of them had changed out of their bloody armor and into clean robes without so much as a glance at naked skin. He was disappointed, his longing for her barely in check. She sat down next to him as he lounged on a handful of pillows that had been scattered around the room. He found her proximity dangerously tempting, his eyes traveling where he wished his hands could at that moment. She did not stop him, turning gracefully to allow a profile view as she set down a plate of fresh fruit. Her eyes met his, her version of playful also meaning deadly. He grinned.

The conversation was going on without them, the others discussing the day's events loudly. This could be blamed on good company or the flowing wine, or both if one put effort into examining these things. Caesar did not. He was imagining the woman seductively sliding fruit between his lips naked and writhing beneath him and that did not involve company in the slightest.

He rested the back of his head on his wrist, stretching out next to her warm body. He watched her place a piece of fruit in her own mouth, sensual at first, but quickly becoming unbridled delight at its taste. He couldn't help but smile, remembering her social gathering in the city. The situation had been very close to the same, though the people had been different and so had she.

She had fed him fruit all night without him realizing that she had eaten none of it herself. When questioned without mercy, she finally admitted that she had never tasted any of the varieties she saw and was too cautious to try them without testing their quality first. He had pressed a grape into her reluctant mouth, unconcerned with her protests. When the juices hit her tongue, her whole face had lit up and her hand had gone to her lips in a decidedly feminine gesture. Since then, however, she never tasted anything without giving him a piece first. She constantly amused him.

Pompey's nerve-wracking voice was beginning to break through Caesar's calm exterior, having been going on about something for the last long while that he could remember. He wasn't listening but hearing it was enough to ruin his content. Watching her tongue play with the grape between her teeth allowed his concentration to exclude it momentarily and his fingers pulled at her robes for the hundredth time that night. She winked roguishly, biting the grape in half before placing it all in her mouth.

It was all part of the silent communication they had developed accidentally. Out of the inability to speak their true intents in front of others, they had come up with subtle signals they passed in the clear view of everyone they knew. Just then, she had noticed his darkening thoughts and distracted him with thoughts of sex, reassuring him that she was here to help him through this. He had responded with the closest he could get to tearing her clothing from her body, indicating not for the first time that evening that he wanted her. _Now_. She replied with what could be roughly translated as, "Patience, you will have your chance. Do not ruin a good night with your temper."

One corner of his mouth went down noticeably, his silent statement obvious in the face of all the others. He turned his head to gaze at the other party-goers, though he was hoping there would be less than the last time he had looked. Again, he was disappointed.

Crassus sat comfortably in the only chair provided and his wife relaxed easily at his feet, her arm curled affectionately around one of his legs. They had been the most open about all topics, having starting the majority of the discussions themselves. Crassus was a master politician, but his wife was an expert conversationalist. Their pairing had made the most sense to Caesar out of any of the Senator's and it was one of the reasons he had come to respect Crassus. Not trust, no, but respect? Without question.

Pompey lay across an enormous pile of pillows, two women draped over him at the legs and chest in either direction. One held a goblet, the other played with the food on a plate beside her. Caesar's lip twitched up, the taste of bile rising behind his gritted teeth. The three of them had been feeding each other in obscene innuendos to the awkward amusement of the rest of the guests all evening. It made him want to hurt someone. Mostly the three of them. His eyes darted away to the last couple gratefully.

Brutus lay closest to them, his wife compressed against his form almost as closely as his clothing. Brutus was twirling a lock of her hair around his index finger as he took in the discussion in silence. His wife was a quiet, but strong woman, able to hold her own and still manage to play the demure housewife and mother of four. Caesar gazed on them fondly, the closest thing he had to a friend in life and the woman who made that man happy. He had noticed their lack of boisterous enjoyment most prominently, only his wife joining in the conversations before now. How very unlike his friend. It made him worry.

Accepting another piece of fruit, his eyes flicked to Brutus asking her a silent question. It was her turn to frown slightly and she turned her head, baring a new wound in response. His eyebrow quirked up, settling again as the conversation shifted finally. One of Pompey's women voiced a solid opinion behind her question, and Caesar had no trouble deciding where she had gotten it from, "So, I must hear more about this mystery woman! I knew you were Caesar's wife but is it true that you go to war with _men_?"

He saw the dark glimmer in her eye as she looked up, her scowl obvious before she gave the woman a vicious smile. Pompey answered for her, oblivious, "Did you not know, my dear? She is a _General_ of the Army of Rome! She goes to war more than even the Great Caesar does!"

The set of thinly veiled insults put the both of them on edge, her eyes and body going cold and stiff. He was currently facing away from the trio, but in her reaction he could see a deadly confrontation looming nearer. Either one of them would snap if pushed much farther, she sooner than he from the look of things. He placed a hand on her thigh, fingers squeezing gently. His eyes said one thing, but his laugh was convincing enough, "And more than you also, Pompey!"

She smirked at him, her appreciation apparent as the others laughed at the comeback. If there was one thing he loved, it was putting that arrogant bastard in his place. His hand contracted, pulling at her robes again. Her eyebrow twitched this time and he smiled. She looked up, her features relaxed as she anchored herself against him with an elbow over his chest. He ran his fingertip along the exposed underside of her upper arm, but her expression did not change. She hid it well, for she was quite ticklish there. He smiled again.

The other woman spoke up, her tone more believable than the first, awe rather than sarcasm behind it, "I find it difficult to believe that a woman as beautiful as yourself could be found in battle!"

And all eyes turned in surprise as Brutus began laughing, its sound filling the suddenly quiet room. He looked at the two of them, his eyes heavy on her, then shifting to the woman who had spoken as he answered, "This woman does not go into battle."

The piece of fruit in her hand collapsed in her fist, its juices running down her arm and collecting on the plate beneath. Caesar had to hold her bicep firmly to keep her in the relaxed position she had been in, her eyes blazing as she stared in anger and disbelief at the man she had till recently trusted. Before Caesar had to restrain her with his other hand, his friend continued in a hushed voice, "She _is_ the battle."

Brutus' eyes rested on hers and Caesar felt her calm again, her muscles losing their tension. He turned to look at Brutus, his eyes questioning as he spoke, "What does that mean, exactly?"

Brutus sighed, the sound of a man weary of battle - saddened and exhausted. He watched his wife's hair curl around his finger as he spoke, half-heartedly amused as he recanted, "In most cases, the army was designated half of the enemy forces and she the other."

Laughter filled the room once more, but it was a chorus of everyone in the room laughing together. She and Caesar joined as well, knowing it was only a slight embellishment on his friend's part. Caesar observed as their eyes met. Her head tilted enough for him to notice and no one beside Caesar saw the exchange. Brutus returned the gesture, a wane smile on his lips and fear in his eyes. They returned to their laughter.

After it had died down a little, the women of the group prodded Brutus to tell them tales of the feats of Caesar's wife, their drunken intimidation stopping them from asking her directly. He complied, with her permission and occasional additions, describing brutal killings and dismemberment with the flourish of a practiced soothsayer. The stories were accepted well, if only as fiction. The three of them knew all too well that every word was the truth- every death had been counted. They laughed over the shared memories of gory battle and the smell of death and destruction. Inebriation is a strange thing at the best of times.

The later the night drew on, the more extravagant the stories became until most of the party was too intoxicated to tell up from down, let alone truth from lies. Brutus was finishing a particularly gruesome and hilarious story with her help, the two of them describing how she had narrowly escaped an encounter with her clothing intact. She had then stolen the armor off a dead man to cover herself, much to the amusement of the drunken guests. It was all so difficult to believe wholly, especially with the amount of alcohol that had been consumed.

Brutus had described it well enough that Caesar could imagine her every move. Thinking of her as such - merciless, bloody and partially naked - he could resist no longer. He tugged her clothing more forcefully than he had all night. Still laughing, her gaze slid over to his, hardening him instantly. He did his best to hide it as they excused themselves. She was a human shield, letting him guide her into the hallway rather than the other way around. He had drunk enough that he would have need of her support eventually.

Once they were clear of the room, he spun and pushed her against a nearby wall. In the night's shadows, he claimed her mouth ruthlessly and pulled her skirts up around her waist. Barely lifting her, she locked her legs around him and in seconds they were in the throes of ecstasy. He was thorough and extremely rough, her gentle sighs belying the true strength of his thrusts. Softly, she called his name before biting fiercely on his ear.

He supported her fully with her thighs, pressing them open wider and allowing him better entrance. She gasped, her nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders through the fabric of his clothing. His sighs were just as gentle, his breathing just as even, the savagery of their intercourse seemingly inconsequential when compared to the loving sounds they made together. In the shadows they remained quiet until, their passion finally spent, he whispered to her, "I apologize, my sweet wife. I could not wait."

She explored his mouth with her tongue momentarily before whispering back, "It was a good thing, for neither could I."

He took her again in the darkened hallway before they made their way to the luxurious quarters they shared. The two of them slept until well after morning light and, being roused, Caesar dismissed the nameless courier that bothered them. As they left, he explained in her sleeping ear to no one in particular, "I have more important things to do today."

Her laughter exited the room with the messenger, a moan of pleasure following directly behind it.


	4. Inquisition

Chapter 3 - Inquisition

-

Eventually, he had allowed her out of bed and enough time alone that they could dress themselves. That task had taken an unusually long time, as their desires for the other had forced them to start over entirely several times. Knowing that the longing that had built over the last few months was as strong for her as it was for him made leaving her unmolested a difficult thing. His gaze was drawn to her constantly and he never found the view lacking.

Small moments - when her hair spilled down her naked back, when her eyes glinted in the sunlight as she looked at him, the exposed skin of her thigh drawing his eyes - all caused a rush of feelings which he could not control. She would have most of her clothes on and he would find himself removing them, leaving a heap on the floor while he ravished her body again. This went on most of the morning, though he was not all to blame. She had her own fun and, to his amusement, he had not been fully clothed since the night before.

As the morning passed and mid-day grew closer, they had managed to stay on separate sides of their quarters, backs turned to each other in an unspoken agreement to leave the other alone. For the moment. He finished washing his face, wondering if he was actually done dressing and found it to be true. He hung the towel he had used nearby, glancing over his shoulder at the woman sitting in front of the opulent vanity he had procured for her the week before their wedding. He wrestled with a smile that grew as he remembered her reaction and the subsequent, and vehement, repayment she had given him. He took his time making his way over to her, closer to prowling than walking.

She followed his approach in the mirror's reflection, an enormous piece of polished metal in an ornate frame that had taken so much effort to obtain he had almost given up trying to do so. He stopped a few paces behind her, observing the deliberate shaping of her hair. His head tilted to the side, momentarily, as he considered not her appearance, but the aspect of his investment. He certainly thought it was one of the better decisions he had made involving this woman. He closed the space between them, an itch in his fingers to touch her. He was not a man to question his reasoning, but regarding her he was never sure he could fully trust himself.

He noticed her keen stare, a smile creeping onto her lips as her hands worked her hair into a thin circlet of silver leaves. _Another investment_, he thought. His finger traced the delicate metal, remembering the first small gift that had led to so many others. Some spoke of him as charitable but he had never been so as he was with her. His gifts were few but expensive, extravagant but never without reason. He bent to place a kiss on her neck, her hair leaving it uncovered for the day. He did prefer looking at her bare skin.

All of his gifts had been tactical as well as generous, a testament to his personality. He had presented her with the circlet after she had plainly refused to acclimate to life in Rome, choosing instead to live as a soldier in the barracks with the men under her direction. Unable to allow such disgrace for long, he had also arranged for a wardrobe to be delivered so she would have no reason to wear her armor everywhere she went. She had been suspicious of him, and rightly so, refusing still for months after that. He had kept a gentle pressure of assurance and guilt and waited. Time was all she had needed.

His subtle efforts to make her a respectable woman had been repaid with a vengeance when she had finally decided to start wearing them. Seeing her dressed properly had been a pleasurable shock, but it had also been a strange catalyst for the raging possessiveness he felt for her. Unfortunately, he had not been the only one to notice how well Roman style suited her and advances had come pouring in. He wondered how she had not drowned. He also wondered how he had kept himself from murdering a vast majority of the supporting Senate out of sheer jealousy.

She finished what she had been doing with her hair and stood, leaning closer to her reflection. His gaze followed her movement down rather than up, running his hand down her back and over what had been unaccessible only moments before. He kicked the stool aside, replacing its presence with his own and fit himself along her back.

His lips began at the nape of her neck and trailed over her shoulders, any place he could find to expose soft flesh. His hands roamed, then settled on her hips as his fingers began to gather the thin material into his fists. The floor-length hem rose in increments, finally allowing his hands access to her legs which he took full advantage of. She chuckled, her appreciation apparent as her body defied his pressuring hips, her fingertips gently touching his cheek over her shoulder.

He guided her mouth to his as her face turned toward him, desire rumbling anew in his chest when her tongue slipped between his lips. Palms sliding around her thighs, he pulled her forcefully against him, kneading the flesh with hungry fingertips. Out of habit and want, she pushed back, a greedy moan escaping as she leaned forward invitingly. He shifted the fabric into one hand, his other seeking between her trembling legs.

He grinned, bearing down on his lower lip to hide his exhilaration. She was wet, aching for his touch and he lavished her with it. Bracing herself against the mirror with one hand, her head lowered between hunched shoulders. He parted her, entered her, closing his eyes at the sound of his name gasped in lust, "_Gaius_..."

Breathing more heavily, he thrust forcefully with his hand and felt her body shudder in response. He added another finger, coating it with her essence before removing them both to tease her with their slickness. As she rocked against him, her hand upset several of the containers that rested on the smooth surface, the sound of them hitting the floor not effecting their actions in the slightest. He desperately wanted her, his need to be enclosed within her mounting as the volume of her voice rose. She was begging without words and he more than enjoyed such praise. Overcome, he pressed her further forward and hastily shoved aside the material of his burdening garments.

He made quick work of their separation, barely allowing her time to accept him before he pulled her up. Watching in the mirror, he began agonizingly slow movements within her, ignoring his own pleasure and her writhing body. He needed her to last which would require careful planning and control on his part. He needed answers and he wanted the truth. He tasted the skin of her neck, his tongue running flat along its curve until taking her ear between his teeth. She weakened, raising one knee to rest on the edge of the table they stood before and asking with her body that he take her more forcefully.

He did not comply, withdrawing fully until she stood straight again. At her pitiful whimpering, he frowned. He could not blame her, he wished to do the same. He pushed the bunched fabric of her skirts higher, examining what it revealed with a hungry eye. Even though she had done what he wanted, he felt she deserved a just punishment for the blatant disregard of his desires. With a flat hand, he delivered a swift blow to her backside, the tender skin flushing at the sudden impact. She cried out, but knowing her intonations as well as he did he knew that she was relishing its enduring heat.

In response, she quieted, taking a deep breath before exhaling, "Yes, my husband."

He loved this game they played, this game of dominance. Endlessly amusing and completely satisfying. She said it with no other meaning than: _You were right and I was wrong_. It was an apology, an acquiescence, giving in when she did not wish to in hope of the recompense she knew was coming. Appeased, he pulled her fiercely toward him, his breath on her ear, "Better."

He claimed entrance, commanding and slow, her enjoyment drawn out till he could no go no deeper. He relaxed, minutely, before testing her limits more aggressively without withdrawing. He had full knowledge of what this did, her knees giving way beneath her with a cry close to despair. He scolded her for changing positions, another blow landing exactly where it had before. Her pleading, needful moan was a delicious victory, but he had so little time today. He still needed answers.

Pulling her upright, he thrust against her boundaries, catching her so she would not require another round of punishment. He watched her in the mirror, waiting until she had recovered enough to see his reflection staring at her. Even as he turned his head to gently bite her ear and neck, his eyes never left hers in the polished surface. She was beginning to understand the new rules and played along to the best of her ability.

Biting at her shoulder, he asked in a conversational tone, "Did you know of the attempted assassination?"

He withdrew slowly as he spoke, waiting a moment before pressing into her again, allowing a brief diversion before requiring an answer. When she had finished vocalizing, she replied in an equally calm manner, "I was prepared for something of it's likeness."

This was another game of theirs, or less that, a device they had discovered between them. On one of their earliest nights together, she had asked him a question he found he could not answer untruthfully. Exploring the depths of this odd behavior, they discovered more that he could tell her nothing but truths when she was astride him. He had been close to embarrassed when it was laid bare, knowing that she would use it against him given the opportunity.

He remembered it well, how she had snuck away from her guards and accosted him in his quarters. Officially, she was a prisoner to be put on trial for killing so many of his men, but she was better at escaping her restraints than anyone cared to admit. After the first day, she had agreed to stop killing the guards in her escapes, but they were still found unconscious or dazed depending on the situation. She never strayed, only loosening her bonds to find him, whether he be riding or bathing or sleeping as the occasion had been.

He had known she was there, but was not quick enough to launch a defense in the dark. Straddling him, she had worked him into a frenzy before allowing him to remove her clothing. He had re-bound her hands, though, on principal. She had not cared, even allowing him to tie her bindings in a way that her arms were suspended above her as she knelt over him. In the throes of their passions, she had asked an idle question, her tone completely belaying the unbridled lust tearing through the two of them, "Do you find me more pleasurable than other women?"

He distinctly remembered considering how to answer, or even if he would. He had no reason to lie, but it was in his nature. He would have at least left her to wonder, never giving her a real conclusion to her inquiry. Instead, he had looked her in the eye and answered plainly, "Yes. In every way."

His eyes had narrowed at his own reply as he asked himself what he was doing. She had stopped to stare down at him, the same mistrust on her own features that he was giving himself. "My ears must be deceived! Did the truth spill from your lips just now?"

Still shocked and annoyed at himself, he had stated, "Yes, it did."

Unable to believe his own honesty yet again, he had cursed loudly, causing a fit of laughter in which she revealed her hands to be free. The situation afterward had not allowed for further exploration. However, she had tested it often after that to find his strange vulnerability was without falter. It amused him to know about himself and as she had promised several times, by penalty of death at someone else's hands, that she would never reveal his secret, he had allowed it to become a regular routine. They fulfilled whole conversations in this manner. More often than not, the only way they could discuss a matter would be to disrobe first.

What he found more gratifying was discovering that she had the same problem. In a situation almost exact to their current it had come to light, the surface she was doubled over had been different and their location had been more public than private. While taking pleasure of her, he started listening to what she was moaning in Gaelic - battle plans. Battle plans she had been hiding from him. Furious, he had become more forceful in a effort to speed things along that he could discipline her properly. This had led to divulgence he would never have asked of her. She had stolen a necklace from her mother when she was a child, she had never traveled by sea...the admissions were ridiculous at the moment, but afterward she had finally informed him that she had never conceded them to anyone. He was greatly pleased.

From then on, depending on who was dominant at the time, they would debate matters of importance in heated union rather than a location considered appropriate. In this instance, he needed to know she was being truthful rather than telling him what he wanted to hear. She did that often, lying sweetly to him whether it was to her benefit or not. Mildly annoying, but something he had found a way around.

He rewarded her with skilled fingers where they were already joined. Small, circular motions and languid thrusts left her trembling in his arms, barely able to speak his name. He grinned, giving in to his own rapture momentarily - having her so powerless beneath him when he knew what she was capable of made these inquisitions unbearably exquisite.

He removed his hand, reaching to unpin her garment at one shoulder. The fabric fell away, exposing a healthy breast to his wanting hand. She rocked against him, hesitantly, her eyes darting over her shoulder to see if such reaction was permissible. He hummed an assent, closing his eyes as her efforts doubled. He allowed her a few moments before stilling her passionate hips with his hand. Lips and warm breath against her naked shoulder, he murmured, "You are aware that it is unacceptable."

Breathless, she nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip in an effort to stifle her aching need for release. When she opened them again, her eyes were wild with unfulfilled lust and they burned on his in their reflection. She waited, not wanting to displease him. He fondled her breast again, teasing its peak to granite hardness until she whined. She closed her eyes, muting her protests before he found fault with them. In the mirror, her pain was beautiful.

Inwardly, he was disappointed that she was following the rules he invented along the way, wishing they had more time for the discipline she so savored. He sighed, beginning a rhythmic possession of her. Slowly and steadily, letting the pressure build for both of them.

"Do you have an idea of who ordered the attack?" His tone was conversational once more, not pausing in his movements. His hand delved into her garment again, attending to her neglected breast as he awaited his answer.

"Pompey." She responded, calmly, her eyes still closed and her hands in fists on the table top before her.

He grunted in agreement, not surprised by her answer. She shifted slightly, one of her hands offering to hold her skirts as she leaned farther forward. He granted it, his freed hand caressing the skin of her thighs and stomach. He kept pace, ignoring his instincts to rush and find the overwhelming fulfillment he knew she could bring. He disliked making himself wait, but knew it would be a worthy cause. Continuing, he asked, "What are your opinions on our retribution?"

She grinned blindly, eyes still shut as she fought to reserve herself. She rolled her hips, their moans mingling in the quiet room. He did not object, a short, quick thrust prompting her to repeat the gesture. She obliged quite willingly, stopping only when he gripped the flesh of her backside to the point of pain, a growl coming from between his clenched teeth. She was too alluring, knowing too many ways to please him. He reminded himself that had she not possessed these qualities, she would not be his wife. Exhaling carefully, he gathered his wits despite his spinning vision. Allowing himself to calm, he prompted her response with another stinging blow, this to her other side.

Her cry of pain-filled delight almost pushed him over the edge, but he caught himself before it rendered him useless. Roughly, he demanded, "Answer me."

She glared at him over her shoulder, he giving her a glowering challenge in return. He seemed to be crossing her limit of submission, but this did not stop him. His lip twitched in a snarl as he thrust powerfully, driving his point home. There was one of them in charge and it was not she. Relenting, he felt her tighten around him as she neared her peak, "We cannot attempt a volley assassination, he will expect it. Along with poisons, toxins and over-indulgences, he will be monitoring anything that gets near him with an eagle's eye."

He rewarded her by rewarding himself, a quicker pace making their breathing equally labored. "So, we wait?"

A gasping moan began her response, the rest tumbling out in a hurried, quavering voice, "A thought has occurred to me but I could not consider action without your approval, my Caesar." She exhaled, "_Gaius_..."

He could tell she was reaching her climax, his attentions roughening with his tone, "Ah, then you are learning, sweet wife."

Feeling her knees begin to weaken, he reached down to lift one onto the tables surface as she had done earlier. He withdrew, resting against her leg and replacing himself with one finger. It was not enough, and would more than likely infuriate her, but he needed her to speak her mind before it was lost to consuming ecstasy. Her angered moan proved him correct, but he continued, wishing for his release as well as hers, "Tell me this thought."

She beat a small fist against the table, her completion denied and his persistence for information begging at her patience. He added another finger, a promise of what was to come. She gasped, her distress clear in her keening, "I would see it fitting if he died at his own hands, by his own stupidity. _Gaius, please_!"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, scolding, "Do not _beg_, woman."

This was also praised, another digit moistened with her undoing. In truth, there was little he enjoyed more than her begging. As she rocked against him, his own desires became too great to ignore. Unable to refrain any longer, he took firm command of her. With one hand he tormented her already beleaguered breast, the other roughly assisting to bring her to a hasty but powerful finish. She stiffened, her muscles contracting around him that he could not escape. Her cry carried well, filling the room and alerting anyone in a near radius how much satisfaction he brought her.

His own release was beyond that, his mind a whirlwind of gratification. He rested his forehead on her back, the last of his seed being milked from him as her body shook with wave after wave of her climax. When they had calmed to an extent, he removed himself and shifted her garments around her again, raising her that he could re-attach the pin on her shoulder. Grateful, she kissed him, their tongues tasting of recent release. After a few moments, he pressured her away that he could look into her eyes, "I think you have served your purpose for now."

She laughed, her finger tracing his lower lip, "Did you receive what you wished, Great Caesar?"

Kissing her again, he smiled, "With fervor."

She laughed, pulling him into her embrace. He allowed it, overtaking her mouth with his own. She moaned, her head tilting back for air. As he pressed his lips to her neck, he muttered, "We will need to finish our discussion later, however. I am certain you have more to tell."

Her eyes held a dancing mischief when he stepped away. She watched him go with a predatory grin on her flushed lips, "We will see who has what to tell."

He left her to her own devices, making his way to his private offices and summoning the needed aides and scribes along his way. As the day progressed, he found himself drawn to thoughts of her proposition and each time he indulged, an evil grin spread across his features. When questioned, he would answer blandly, "My dear wife has a few questions to answer upon my return."

And he looked forward to every one of them.

-


End file.
